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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28564164">Where the Mind Falls</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarsandi/pseuds/thestarsandi'>thestarsandi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>this body of mine [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon), Tangled (2010)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Moon Powers Varian (Disney), Team Awesome (Disney: Tangled), Varian Needs a Hug (Disney), Varian whump, kind of, no beta we fall like varian off of literally everything, sometimes a lil fluff sprinkled about in the angst, this story's not over yet folks so buckle up and prepare for takeoff, varian + everyone because he deserves family</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:27:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,851</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28564164</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarsandi/pseuds/thestarsandi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fourteen years ago, the moon had saved him. She had given him life. He had never known why. </p><p>Now, when the forces of light and dark threaten to bring Corona to its knees, only Varian can end it once and for all. But he doesn’t feel so sure—he has no weapons, no power. </p><p>All he has is a precious knowledge of self-destruction.<br/>_______</p><p> </p><p>Sequel to <em>Steady Beats the Heart that Bleeds Red</em></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider &amp; Varian, Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider/Rapunzel, Quirin &amp; Varian (Disney), Rapunzel &amp; Varian (Disney)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>this body of mine [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1768225</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>81</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Table of Contents.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello to my readers!</p><p>I am so glad to be back and bringing more to this story, though I am sorry it’s been so long. A massive thank you goes out to all of you for your incredible support and continued interest in my work. I don’t know that I would have kept this up without you. So thank you. </p><p>This is the sequel to Steady Beats the Heart that Bleeds Red. It will be referenced quite often, so this will definitely make more sense having read it first.</p><p>We’ve traveled down a dark road and found our way to the other side. Now it’s time for another adventure with Varian, featuring new battles, old enemies, and, of course, all the angst.</p><p>(the real) chapter 1 is done. I wanted to write more of the second chapter before I post it so it's not 5 months before the next update but i'm impatient so it'll probably go up tomorrow night lol. Right now, I just wanted to release the table of contents ahead of time so stay tuned for the first chapter!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b>Table of Contents </b>(you are here)</p><p> </p><p><b>Chapter 1. </b> <b>Overture.</b></p>
<ul>
<li>Memories of a lifetime.</li>
<li>Father and son.</li>
<li>Rise, my faithful soldiers.</li>
</ul><p>
  <b>Chapter 2. The beginning of the end.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter 3. Summertime madness. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter 4. Tell me it’s okay to bleed. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter 5.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter 6. I hope they remember you.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter 7.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter 8.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter 9. For a moment we get to be glorious.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter 10.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter 11. Hymn for the fallen. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter 12. And as the dust settles,</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter 13. our enemies conspire.</b>
</p><p> </p><p><b>Chapter 14. Threquel: Bones that Build an Empire</b> <b></b></p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Overture</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>o·ver·ture<br/><em>noun</em><br/></p><blockquote>
  <p>1. an introduction to something more substantial.</p>
</blockquote>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <em>Took the breath from my open mouth</em><br/>
<em>Never known how it broke me down</em><br/>
<em>I went in circles somewhere else</em>
</p><p>_________________</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The land was awash with a silvery glow—an ethereal ocean of intangible light that bathed each blade of grass and rolling hill in its warm embrace—that, too, cast each crevice and depthless forest in shadows of the night. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Miles above, beyond one’s grasp and echoing cries, the moon shimmered from her throne in the sky. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He was coming to her. And he would lay before her a choice. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>To save him would be to save them all. But to save him would be to invoke a darkness long settled. To give him life, she would have to give him power—power that could, at last, free the earth from its chains but would bind him, instead. He would become a target, hunted like game until his merciless end. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He would be tested, but if he lived, so, too, would they all. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>She gazed across the earth and the raging sea, a single arm reaching out, passing continents and kingdoms and trails of sullied dirt until her fingertips brushed against his forehead, chilled by the midnight breeze, though he did not rouse at her touch. He could not feel it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He was coming to her, at last.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her precious moondrop. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And so, she opened her mouth and began to sing a song that filled the sky with peace. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Rising in the night,<br/>
A guiding light for all to see.<br/>
Gentle hand held out—<br/>
Saviors, we shall be."<br/>
</em>
</p><p>_______</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Across rolling hills and stretching lands, he trekked and he trekked and he did not slow, feet moving unbridled as a burning urgency coursed through his veins. At his side, his wife matched his fervent pace, eyes narrowed in adamant concentration and fiery hair billowing behind her with the wind that carried forth her silent prayers. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And in his arms… </em>
</p><p>
  <em>In his arms, he clutched a young boy. Ragged breaths slipped through bloodless lips, each one sounding quieter than the previous, but Quirin could only hope his last would not come. His skin was a frosty white—stark against the striking black of his hair—so pale, his father worried the blood beneath his flesh no longer pumped, that his heart no longer beat. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But his breaths went on, and so did he. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Over seas and up mountains and down ravines, the man and woman did not halt, did not turn back. They had set out on a mission and they would not return home with one less beating heart. No matter the consequences, no matter the cost. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Above him, the moon seemed to shimmer with unspoken words of courage, leading him on, through the shadows and through the doubts that plagued his mind. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘What if this doesn’t work?’ he would think. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘It will.’ she would respond. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And, so, his legs carried him on, while around him the words of a melody filled his head.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"With power, uncompared,<br/>
Like the push and pull of tides,<br/>
Grant my dying wish:<br/>
Gift him with your life.<br/>
<br/>
Once more give him life."</em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The sound of music still rang as clearly in his mind as it had on that night, fourteen years ago. They were the words of hope—of healing and mercy and promise.</p><p>The words of the moon.</p><p>Quirin did not doubt the song had come from the moon, for it had been the same voice that spoke to him as he held the corpse of his own son in trembling arms. It had been her voice that agreed to save him and it had been her voice that sang to him during the journey.</p><p>It had been her voice and it had been that song that had since plagued him for fourteen years to follow.</p><p>And, even now, he had no idea what those words meant.</p><p>A quiet groan from below drew the man from the depths of his mind, all thoughts vanquishing at that moment, and his dark eyes flickered to the form laid out before him. <em>Varian. His son.</em></p><p>His son, who had been lying prone in the hospital bed for <em>three days</em>—only having just woken an hour ago with barely enough vigor to speak before falling unconscious once more. His son, who had spent weeks suffering in the shadows of their ignorant gazes—who had suffered and fought with a strength Quirin admittedly did not know the boy to possess.</p><p>
  <em>His son. </em>
</p><p>Oh, how incredibly <em>proud</em> he was.</p><p>He remembered Varian’s expression in the forge when his demons had manifested—he remembered his stance when he had stood face to face with his tormentor. And he remembered his words, oh so clearly.</p><p>
  <em>Two years ago, I might’ve made a different choice. But I was a different person then. I’ve changed. I have. I’m better—stronger. I have something to fight for—to live for. You can’t trick me anymore.</em>
</p><p><em>You’ve lost</em>.</p><p>A quiet chuckle slipped from Quirin’s lip, chiming in the vacant room with a hesitant shrill—loathe to disrupt the peace. His brows were drawn forward, casting shadows over eyes that held a melancholy look, of which the man could not quite pinpoint the cause.</p><p>How had he missed this much?</p><p>How had he missed <em>this</em>—his own son growing so drastically before his very eyes, no longer a rampant child but now matured...wiser…</p><p><em>Changed</em>.</p><p>Yes. Perhaps that was the best word to describe it. Varian had changed so much, not only since the blizzard that had claimed his innocence but also in the year since Quirin had been freed. Even, too, in only the few weeks since the explosion that had started this all.</p><p>
  <em>I am much more than that.</em>
</p><p>Those words—Varian’s own words spoken in a moment of defiance and, possibly, great clarity—resonated in Quirin’s head, thrumming a resounding pulse that matched the beating of his heart and pumped warm blood and emotion through his veins. There were not enough words in the world to describe the awe he felt towards his boy—to describe his pride and love for him...for his strength...for his resiliency.</p><p>Varian had spent so many years trying to prove himself to his father.</p><p>But the truth was...he had never needed any proof, for Varian had always been so much more than Quirin could have ever hoped to be.</p><p>A heavy sigh echoed in the air, blowing heatedly from Quirin’s nose as his jaw clenched. A pang of regret struck deep in the man’s chest.</p><p>Perhaps if he had only said so from the beginning, his son would have never had to suffer at all.</p><p>But the past was the past, and he had learned as a knight that there was no use dwelling on what could not be changed. His only move was to be there <em>now</em> for the boy—to speak <em>now</em> all the words he should've said. The battle had been won, but, still, a war loomed over them—creeping in on the horizon like a brewing storm at sea. It was not his fight, but <em>Varian’s</em>. Quirin’s only place was at his side. And whether that be hand in hand as soldiers or kin, he would be there for as long as he still had breath and blood to give.</p><p>He could not change the past. He could not change the ways he had failed his son back then, but he would stop at nothing to be the father he deserved now. So, reaching out to grasp a single, limp hand, Quirin passed a tight squeeze as though the simple touch would be enough to convey all the words and regret and feelings trapped within his throat that longed to be free.</p><p>A hand—pale skin tinged faintly with a red blush that offered affirmation of the blood that flowed beneath the surface, whispering words of life.</p><p>A hand—</p><p>_______</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>His hand was limp in his own, the flesh a bloodless white and cold to the touch. His chest—frail as a lake of ice, acquiescing to the cracks that would see it torn apart—did not move, did not rise with breath. Trembling fingers reached for his neck, drawing back just before the skin came into contact with his own. A shaky sigh heaved in his lungs as the man sought the strength to acknowledge the truth. He already knew. But to touch the boy’s skin—to feel for a pulse he knew he would not find… </em>
</p><p>
  <em>If his hesitancy made him a coward, well, he then would wear the cowardly chains (if only to stay in a world where his son lived and breathed just a moment more).</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But the spell was broken with a single, stuttering beat of his heart as he felt beneath the boy’s jaw and a second passed—and another—and there was no rhythmic beat to match his own. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He was dead.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Within his very arms, his son had died. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And yet—and yet the world still seemed to turn. The birds still soared in the sky and the trees still swayed in the wind and time did not cease to pass. The world remained intact, which struck Quirin as what should be impossible because his own world was in the midst of crashing down and tearing at the seams. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>This—this cruel world...how dare it. How dare it take his son and act as though nothing had happened. How dare it act as though this was normal—as though this was right when it was all so wrong. This—this wasn't how it was supposed to go. He wasn't meant to outlive his own child. He wasn't meant to lose the one thing he lived for. He—there had to have been something he could've done...some way he could've saved him. Galen had warned him his boy was not strong enough to beat the illness. Ulla had believed Varian would pull through on his own. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And he…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He had dragged his dying son across the winter countryside in the hopes to find some magical cure because doing nothing had felt too much like giving up. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But he had been a fool. And his son had died in his arms half a mile from the castle that held his only hope. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tired, dark eyes rose from their gaze on the still form in his arms to watch the movements of his wife ahead, still pushing onwards towards the Dark Kingdom with no idea of the loss that had just befallen them. She didn't know—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Ulla.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The call of her name was lost to the wind, swirling around them in a mingling dance with falling snow. She still walked—she still hoped—she didn't know—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Ulla!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The fiery look she gave him as she spun around was one he had grown to expect in the years since they had first met. It was a warning signal—a venomous glare meant to halt him in his tracks each time he would come to her in the dead of night as she poured over books or lost herself to her experiments with the intent to drag her to their bed for some much-needed sleep. It was a look meant to paralyze his tongue every instance he dared step foot between her and the problem locked in her sights, the gears in her mind already turning to find the solution because there was nothing in life she would let go unsolved until she had exhausted all resources. And sometimes it may have been her health or sleep that suffered for her drive, and it may have set Quirin’s nerves alight with concern for his wife and a burning urge to care for her when she would not do so for herself...but one look such as that had always been enough to keep him pinned to the sidelines with his disregarded glances of distress. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>That same look now warmed his heart ever so slightly with feelings of reminiscent fondness, despite the grief curdling hotly in his gut. How—how did he break such news to the woman he loved. How did he tell her this was one problem that she just wouldn't be able to solve? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>When her sights were set, she was an unstoppable force.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Had this problem always been destined to fail? Had their son always been destined to go? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Still frozen in place by the weight of Ulla’s eyes, Quirin opened his mouth in an attempt to put to words the deep chasm that had just opened beneath his feet. It was on his tongue—it was simple, he supposed, to speak the truth that their son was dead, but his throat spasmed with each effort to speak and his voice remained sealed behind parted lips. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But he should have known better. He should not have underestimated her sharp mind and their bond, for he did not need to speak at all for the gravity of the situation to tug on her bones all the same. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It must have been plastered all over his face. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The steps that carried Ulla to his side were slower, more easily impeded by the snow piling around them. Her expression was adorned with denial and unendurable agony. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her hand reached out, fingers splayed to close the distance between her and her boy. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>A mother’s touch, they said, could work wonders. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>So perhaps she dared to hope a single caress from their quivering tips on his cheek would be enough to rouse him from eternal slumber. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But it seemed she, too, was rendered captive by the same chains of cowardice that bound him, for she paused as she came within the vicinity of their son—as she noticed his still chest—as she noticed his snow-white face and blue-tinged lips—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And, perhaps, she could not bear to see her touch fail him because she knew it was already too late. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“He—he isn’t—he can’t be—”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Ulla, I—I’m sorry. He’s gone.” Quirin hated the surety in his tone. He hated the solidity with which his voice carried, despite the wavering in his heart. He hated how his every fiber seemed to withhold against the surging flood of despair when everything inside him longed to simply break and he hated how unphased his stillness made him seem in contrast to her stricken face and her trembling voice and limbs and the crystalline tears trekking a forbidden path down her cheeks. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He hated that it made him feel as though he didn't care enough. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He hated it because it wasn't true. But no matter how he longed to feel the grief in the way he felt he should, the emotions welling within his body just did not have the strength to break through the glass facade hiding beneath his skin, though surely it would take nothing more than the smallest prod to send it all shattering to dust.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Or maybe he was just numb to it all. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her eyes—so blue as the raging sea—looked to his and they nearly provided the very prod he needed to crumble. The pain—the sheer anguish that swam in their depths was too much bear when his own body was using all its strength to keep him standing. But she looked away a second later, having found whatever it was she must’ve been searching for in his face, and turned her gaze back to her silent son. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh...my sweet boy. My sweet Varian.” Her pale hand, at last, reached for the porcelain cheek and stroked it softly. Varian did not rouse at the touch, and maybe some small piece of her had still expected a miracle, for her mournful smile slipped from her face, leaving behind only misery. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>A single breath was shared between them—a moment of silence—before Ulla straightened and wiped all traces of sorrow from her features, turning to look Quirin in the eyes once more, though this time with an expression of fierce determination. “We will keep moving. The plan hasn't changed—the—the castle is right there and I will not turn back until we’ve exhausted all efforts—until we’ve tried everything possible. We’ve made it all this way and I will not turn back until I’ve pulled the moon down from the sky and spat in her face for taking away our boy.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She glanced up towards the shimmering orb that sat in the sky, silently staring down at them both with eyes unseen, pausing as though the answers they sought lay just out of reach amongst the stars. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“After all, she owes us that much.”</em>
</p><p>_______</p><p> </p><p>That night had been so long ago, but still sat fresh in Quirin’s mind as though no time had passed at all.</p><p>Even now, there were some nights he would startle awake at the image of his son lying limp in his arms—a picture too vivid, too real—and he knew the memory would be forever carved in his skull.</p><p>Quirin wondered if that had been the night that started this—this <em>mess</em> with the moon and Death and his son—his son who was somehow ensnared within it all. He was a knight of the Dark Kingdom. He knew the powers of the moonstone and the damage it could do. He had seen it demolish an entire land—<em>his home</em>—and yet he had taken his son to it in search of healing...in search of <em>life</em>.</p><p>Had that really been what he was gifted?</p><p>He remembered it all so clearly: entering the barren castle, careful to avoid the wing in which he knew King Edmund had resided—the man being the only one of their entire people to stay behind following the aftermath of their destruction—, and finding their way to the opal’s chamber as though they were pulled along on a string. At the time, Quirin hadn't thought anything of it—the ease with which they navigated the broken halls. The castle had fared better than most structures following the moonstone’s devastating attack, but there had been corridors and stairs left impassable. Yet they had found their way without a single thought or pause in their travels.</p><p>Almost as if they had been guided. As if they had been following the whispering calls of the stone itself—or, perhaps, of the moon.</p><p>It had <em>wanted</em> them to find it.</p><p>And then—<em>the moon’s voice.</em> She had spoken to him like an old friend. She had greeted him like he was kin. Her words were so cryptic, saying everything and, yet, nothing at all. Warnings of damnation and promises of salvation—none of it had made sense to him at the time. No—it had all been nonsense on that night all those years ago, but now…</p><p>
  <em>“Please, you have to save him. He is my son, born of the Dark Kingdom. You’re his only hope.”</em>
</p><p>He remembered how desperate he had sounded upon kneeling before the blue opal, hands clenched tightly around Varian’s dead body and eyes staring longingly into the darkness above, where he knew the moon hung gently in the night just on the other side of the stone barrier.</p><p>
  <em>“He who is true is he who is light. Darkness is coming. The day the light of the sun is shadowed will be our doom. But he who is true holds the power to vanquish this foe and restore the power of the cosmos to their rightful thrones.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dark eyes narrowed, peering deeper into the shadows of the castle, before flicking back to the moonstone hovering just beyond his reach. It glowed brightly, seeming to shimmer in response to the celestial voice. And a quick gaze to his wife confirmed the voice existed only in his head—she had not heard the words of the moon.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He who is true—a coming darkness—doom—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>What did it all mean? It—was it a warning?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Quirin’s heart clenched as the hope within him began to wilt. He had come for healing, but the moon could only offer riddles. “I—I don’t understand. Please, I just need—” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I will save your son.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The words were sudden, spoken in a tone he couldn’t quite place. The moon...she—she sounded almost regretful...mournful…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But what did she have to mourn?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He did not have the time to ponder, however, as the opal before him began to glisten more brightly than he had ever seen it, emitting a glow so radiant he feared it might blind him. Streaks of soft light struck out from the stone, bouncing in all directions throughout the darkened corridor and surrounding them with a caressing touch. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The last thing he saw before a burst of color filled his vision was a single strip of his son’s hair lifting gently towards the sky—towards the moon—, glowing a brilliant, fluorescent blue. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And the last words he heard were the melodious chimes of a lullaby he had heard only once before.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Rising in the night,<br/>
A guiding light for all to see.<br/>
Gentle hand held out—<br/>
Saviors, we shall be.<br/>
</em>
</p><p>
  <em>With power, uncompared,<br/>
Like the push and pull of tides,<br/>
Grant my dying wish:<br/>
Gift him with your life.<br/>
<br/>
Once more give him life."</em>
</p><p>_______</p><p> </p><p>That moment had been indescribable, really. To this day, Quirin found it difficult to put to words the emotions that had coursed through his veins as the moon held his son, suspended in the air and surrounded by a mist of her light. He and Ulla had been knocked to the floor by the surge of powerful energy radiating from the moonstone, but his gaze never wavered. He saw every movement—every heaving burst of wind that rocked the castle—every minuscule twitch that pulled on Varian’s taut muscles—every flutter of eyelids he had believed to be forever closed—</p><p>The moon had saved him that night.</p><p>Without hesitation, the moon had saved his son’s life.</p><p>A bitter laugh escaped Quirin’s throat, grating on the tender flesh. At the time, he had foolishly believed it to be an act of good grace—a deed for her soldier, a guardian of her opal. He was a knight of her kingdom and Varian, his son.</p><p>In a way, perhaps they were kin.</p><p>But then—the <em>cost—</em></p><p>He had had no way of knowing, she had given no warning of the cost her magic would bring. And now, gazing down upon the boy he loved relentlessly, he was almost grateful she hadn’t, for he did not know what choice he would have made had the consequences been revealed.</p><p>Had he known what he would lose in the face of his gain.</p><p>The signs had been so subtle—so wretchedly unnoticeable that nothing had struck him as <em>wrong</em> until it was already too late.</p><p>Though, he assumed, it would always have been too late to save her.</p><p>Following the wave of energy and rupturing light that had sent Quirin and Ulla to the stone floor, he had been quick to recover, to fight the darkness threatening to pull him beneath the surface of consciousness, but she had not. She had remained crumpled, unmoving for a lasting moment as he attempted to shake her awake.</p><p>And when she woke…</p><p>Her face had suddenly been so pale, though he had thought it to be only a trick of the cerulean atmosphere, and her eyes had been so utterly exhausted—void of the glimmer and intense wonder that had always given her an air of vivaciousness he could never match.</p><p>Her arms had trembled so slightly when she held their young boy—alive, once more—and the joyous spirit and splitting smile that stretched across suddenly gaunt cheeks had seemed quelled by something he could not see. She had been silent on the journey home, unobservant of the wondrous secrets around them and ignorant of the sparkling constellations above.</p><p>And perhaps that had been his first clue.</p><p>Ulla had always been so entirely enthralled by the world around her—enraptured by the largest mountains and by the smallest insects. There had been nothing that didn’t amaze her—nothing she hadn’t craved to discover or secrets she hadn’t longed to unlock. But as they trekked across the lands to find their way back home, she remained eerily silent, passing only occasional glances to him and wistful smiles to Varian.</p><p>It was not unlike the mournful tone of the moon—as though there was something to lose.</p><p>His eyes clenched shut momentarily to remove from sight the infirmary in which he sat. A large hand, calloused by his work in the fields, tightened around Varian’s limp one, desperate, perhaps, to feel the warmth in his flesh for reassurance that he still lived—that he had not slipped from his grasp as his wife had.</p><p>It had all been so painfully clear—looking back on that night, he could see every sign of the coming loss—every sign that his wife would be gone before the new day. Her pace had grown slower with every step, her lungs weaker with every breath.</p><p>But, still, she had carried on.</p><p>By the time they arrived at their home, her deteriorating state had been impossible to overlook. Quirin had feared she would drop where she stood, barely having the strength to cross the threshold of the door and having to lean heavily on him as he guided her to their bedroom. Her breaths were ragged, catching in her throat as though the flesh were made of jagged shards of broken glass. A summons had been sent for Corona’s physician, Galen, immediately upon their return to the village, but something deep within him had known it was pointless.</p><p>Saving her would be a losing battle.</p><p>And several hours later, when she was already gone—her skin already chilled and lips already blue—he heard the last words from the moon he would ever hear for fourteen years.</p><p>
  <em>“A life for a life.”</em>
</p><p>Below, nestled tightly in his own arms and blissfully ignorant to the misery drifting through the stagnant house, little Varian had slept on.</p><p> </p><p>_________________</p><p>
  <em>Caught the air in your woven mouth<br/>
Leave it all I'll be hearing how you went<br/>
In search of someone else</em>
</p><p>_________________</p><p> </p><p>The first stars of the night glistened from their place in the sky, waking from their daytime slumber to dance throughout the darkening heavens as fiery red turned to blue turned to black. They waved to him, faces bright with cheerful grins, and called out to him like brothers in arms.</p><p>The moon watched silently, as though judging his strength and her judgment to crown him her knight.</p><p>
  <em>An eclipse is coming. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Only you have the power to lay this war to rest. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>My moondrop.</em>
</p><p>My moondrop. That was what she called him, though he hadn’t the faintest idea why. He had no magic—he didn’t even carry the moonstone, which rested solely in the hands of Cassandra. He knew, now, that they were more connected than he had ever believed since hearing the truth from his father that day in the forge. She had saved him from death, but that didn't change the facts.</p><p>He didn’t have the power she seemed to think he did.</p><p>Varian’s gaze drifted from the setting sun to her glowing orb—an incandescent display of dazzling light against a backdrop of darkness. He remembered her soft touch as she had stroked his cheek, whispering words of safety in the wake of his greatest battle. He remembered her kind eyes that had peered into his own with only a look of benevolence. How different she had been from Death—from the tearing claws and the leering stares and the sinister smile hiding sharpened teeth that longed for flesh and blood.</p><p>
  <em>You are free now.</em>
</p><p>He had only brought pain. She had offered him refuge.</p><p>
  <em>Go and prepare yourself for what’s to come.</em>
</p><p>He was free, but not at no cost.</p><p>In four days’ time, his week was up. The eclipse would be upon them and Corona would be at war with Zhan Tiri and Cassandra—at the mercy of their destructive power. He did not know what their plans were and he did not dare to hope Cassandra would recognize the reality of her actions in time. To place their lives in the hands of misplaced faith could mean the decimation of the entire kingdom.</p><p>He knew Rapunzel wished to see her old friend returned to them, but he, too, knew they had to prepare for the worst.</p><p>They had to be prepared to take her down.</p><p>In the end, if it came down to a broken friendship or an entire kingdom, they couldn't hesitate to do what it takes to save the people, even if it meant destroying any chance of reparation. After all, Varian, too, had let himself fall down the darkened path and he knew firsthand just how tainted one’s vision could become. That night in Old Corona, they had fought him like the enemy he was. His motives—their friendship...none of it had stood in the way of their mission to neutralize the threat. At the time it had hurt, but he was glad for it now. Had they hesitated...had they spent any effort trying to reason with the unreasonable...well, he was afraid of how things could have happened differently—of what he might have done in their moment of vulnerability.</p><p>And he realized: that was what had made him so dangerous at the time. That was what made Cassandra so dangerous now.</p><p>Just as he had been, she was trapped in a blackened state of mind—her understanding of truth and lies was so tainted, so corrupted by what she wanted to believe that she could not see the reality of her actions. She was so persuaded that this path would give her what she sought, but the truth was, in the end, she would only end up losing everything.</p><p>Just as he had.</p><p>He knew because he had been there before.</p><p>Blue eyes narrowed as they honed in on the moon above, recognizing the slight shimmer on her surface as a returning gaze. She was watching him as he was watching her.</p><p>“Is this why you chose me? Because—because I’m like her? Because I’ve been where she is?”</p><p>There was no response.</p><p>“Tell me then. Tell me why you chose <em>me.</em> I’ve tried already—I’ve tried to talk to her, but it only made things worse. She hung me out of a tower, she nearly killed Rapunzel! Whatever it is you think I can do to fix this...you’ve got it wrong. Unless…</p><p>“Unless it’s not Cassandra you want me to fight.”</p><p>Varian’s gaze dropped, pausing first on the last fragment of the burning sun as it sank below the horizon, before turning to the emptying streets of Corona. The kingdom’s people were beginning to settle in as night fell, returning to their homes and families with only a few stopping to greet their neighbors.</p><p>These were the people he had once despised. These were the people he had once threatened and hurt with little remorse because he was too caught up in his own pain that he failed to recognize the pain of others. These were the people he was now being asked to protect. And these were the people he <em>would</em> protect—at all costs.</p><p>Because Corona was his home. And these were his people too.</p><p>He wanted to be enough for them. He wanted to be enough for the coming battle—for his friends and his family. The moon had seen Corona’s approaching downfall and chose him as their saving grace.</p><p>Varian eyed her once more, examining each shadow and highlight that adorned her features. He could picture the figure of her that had come to him after the battle. Her eyes were so kind and her tone so certain. She did not seem to doubt him. She did not seem to doubt her choice.</p><p>But…</p><p>
  <em> Only you have the power.</em>
</p><p>“But what if you chose wrong?”</p><p>_______</p><p> </p><p>The door leading from Varian’s guestroom to the balcony was silent as it eased open, permitting entry to an unnoticed individual. He stopped briefly, taking a moment to simply breathe in the cool, night air and revel in the sight of the boy standing ahead with his back to him and unaware of his presence.</p><p>He didn't think Varian knew just how often he had stood in this very position: a figure of the background, simply watching—watching the village, watching the crops...watching his son. Often, Quirin wished he had taken more of those moments to grow closer to the boy—to bridge the uncrossable gap between caused by differences and time.</p><p>Even now, even after everything that had just happened, he still had no idea how to really talk to him.</p><p>He was his son, yet, at times, they felt like strangers to one another.</p><p>“I often found your mother in this same position, standing in the darkness and watching the world around her.”</p><p>The sound of his father’s voice pulled Varian from his thoughts with a start, not having heard him join him on the balcony. He turned his attention from the kingdom and the twinkling stars to gaze, instead, at Quirin as the man slowly moved to stand at his side—hesitantly, almost...as though he were asking permission to approach.</p><p>They stood silently for a moment, side by side, and simply breathing as one.</p><p>Father and son.</p><p>“Sometimes,” Quirin’s low voice carried on, a soothing sound that lulled his weary heart, “she would just stand alone to observe. You see, she was a lot like you in that way—so incredibly fascinated by life and its mysteries, always digging deeper for more knowledge. That passion is what led her eventually to alchemy...something you share, too, with her.</p><p>“But other times, I would catch her gazing at the sky and at the stars, almost as if she was listening to them speak. And in those moments, there was always a certain look in her eyes—when it seemed she felt lost and alone, looking for an answer or for solace that was beyond reach.”</p><p>He grew quiet for a beat, reaching one calloused hand up to Varian’s chin, gently turning his son’s face towards his own. “Right now, I see that same look in your eyes.”</p><p>Varian didn't move to turn away immediately, feeling for the first time in a long while no need to hide his struggles. After all, they had all seen enough of them in the last few days. What harm could it do now?</p><p>He knew what his father was asking. <em>What is making you feel so lost? What answers do you seek?</em></p><p>The question, though, remained unspoken, which made his heart clench with some emotion akin to gratitude. Their relationship was complex—bordering even on strained in the last couple of years—which had led to the downward spiral of Varian’s harmful attempts to gain his father’s pride and Quirin’s failed expressions of such. Perhaps they had always been an eruption waiting to happen...perhaps they had always been heading for where they ended up...but it was in this moment that Varian could see how far they had come since.</p><p>He had learned to see love in more than just words—to see pride and affection and belonging in the crevices of everything around him.</p><p>Quirin had learned patience and trust and faith in his son to understand his own strengths and limits. He had learned that Varian was more than a child to be protected. He was a force of nature with incomparable courage. And he was learning to trust that strength and judgment.</p><p>He was learning how to support without shielding.</p><p>By not asking the question that burned within him, Quirin was conveying that trust—his faith that his son knew which battles he had the power to fight...and which battles he did not. He was inviting Varian to seek help, but also allowing him to refuse.</p><p>After all, this was <em>his</em> battle coming up. And it was up to him to choose how to fight it.</p><p>“That night…” Varian had to swallow against the sudden dryness in his throat, one hand moving in the shadowy night to rest over his heart in some ineffective attempt to lessen its pounding beat. “That night in the forge, after—after Death...the moon came to me when I was unconscious. She warned me that something was coming for Corona.</p><p>“She called it the eclipse...something about a battle between light and dark. And—and I didn't say anything earlier when I first woke up and maybe I should have because obviously keeping secrets like this has proven to just make everything worse but we were finally getting a <em>break</em> and I just—”</p><p>“Son!” Quirin’s hands moved quickly to grasp Varian’s shoulders with a tight squeeze, effectively severing the stream of words flowing from his mouth. Crystal blue eyes stared up at him with guilt and...so much weariness that it felt as though an iron grip was clenching around his heart and lungs to sever his breath.</p><p>How it <em>hurt</em> to see such a look in his own son’s eyes—to see how utterly <em>exhausted</em> he was.</p><p>“Varian, it’s okay. I trust you—more than, perhaps, you know and that is my own fault—and I trust that whatever reason you might have had for keeping this from everyone was good. I trust your decisions to be what you believe is right, not just for you, but for everyone because that’s who you are. You are my son—you are intelligent and selfless and so incredibly brave. Whatever your reasoning, I trust you for it.”</p><p>A gentle smile was shared between the pair as Varian sucked in a deep breath to calm his nerves before starting again. “When I fell unconscious, the moon told me there would be a battle on the day of the eclipse. I’ve not been able to stop thinking about it since I woke up and I think I figured out most of what she was alluding to.</p><p>“She said it would be a battle between darkness and light. She also said it would be when Zhan Tiri strikes. So think about it! Darkness and light? What else could she mean except a battle between the sundrop and moonstone? Which means Cassandra and Zhan Tiri are planning something big if they’re ready to wage war on Corona. It’s just…” he trailed off, chewing nervously on one lip as a gloved hand rubbed the back of his neck.</p><p>“Just what?”</p><p>“There’s still one part I don't really understand… She—she said <em>I</em> had to be the one to stop Zhan Tiri. She said I was the only one with the power to do so, which doesn't make any sense. I don't have any special abilities or magic. That’s all Rapunzel, so why did she say it had to be <em>me?</em></p><p>“And—and if I don't even know what power I’m supposed to have...then how can I have any hope of winning?”</p><p>Quirin sighed, taking a moment to truly observe his son as he stood before him, his features a contrast of shadows and highlight as the moon cast her light over them both. Even now, on the other side of the crumbling bridge they had managed to cross, there was such vivaciousness that lived in Varian’s eyes that was never dampened by his tragedies and pains.</p><p>It gave him hope that this, too, would be something they could overcome.</p><p>“You know, Varian...for all her mysteriousness and aloofness, the moon has always been incredibly wise. She sees things the rest of us do not. If she sees something in you that you don't see yourself, that does not make you blind or her wrong. The answer will come to you in time and of that, I am sure.”</p><p>“But how can you possibly know that? I—I’m just me and I’ve been <em>just me</em> my whole life! I work with science and alchemy and—and I trust predictability. I trust evidence! And the evidence shows that I’m just ordinary. How can I trust her words that I’m so special when there’s nothing to support the contrary?”</p><p>“Just the other day you stood up against one of the darkest figures of legend and <em>won</em>. I’d call that pretty extraordinary.”</p><p>Varian hesitantly glanced up, almost as if to be sure it was really his father who stood before him, speaking such words. A soft smile was tugging at the older man’s lips.</p><p>“And before that, you fought against the anger and pain within you to do the right thing. You found your own way back to the light because, despite it all, there is a goodness in your heart that will always guide you home. And—most importantly—you are my son, and you have grown to be so much more than I could have ever expected. I have always been proud of you and I have always known you would become someone great. Someone <em>special</em>. Do not doubt yourself, Varian.”</p><p>Before the final words had even left Quirin’s mouth, Varian was upon him—wrapping his arms around the man in a tight embrace, hoping to convey in any way just how much it meant to him to have his father’s unwavering faith. He had spent so much time questioning himself and his past—questioning his place and his worth.</p><p>But his father had never doubted him. And that meant more than he could ever know.</p><p>“Thank you, dad.” Varian’s own voice was muffled by both Quirin’s chest and by the emotion welling in his throat. Breathing deeply for a moment to gather control, he pulled back just enough to peer up at the man who meant everything to him. “So what now?”</p><p>“Now we prepare ourselves to fight. I believe the moon chose you for a reason. That night when you were young and we nearly lost you, she saved you. She chose you then and she chose you now. When the time comes, you will know what you have to do.</p><p>“Though I dread to know your place in the coming war, I do believe the moon couldn't have placed Corona in better hands. You are so strong, Varian. You’ve grown so much. You have learned to fight for what deserves fighting and you have learned what it means to be good in a world that can be full of bad. This kingdom looks to you to protect her against this evil and I know you will not let her fall.</p><p>“As long as you fight, Varian, I will fight by your side—as a soldier...and as your father. I will always be here.”</p><p>And as they stood there beneath the moon and high above the kingdom they called home—a father and a son with an unbreakable love—there was something in Varian’s face that sent a reminiscent shockwave of ice through Quirin’s veins.</p><p>The look in Varian’s eyes—the sound in his voice...there was an underlying strength—a promise of determination to do whatever it took to protect the ones he loved. He would give everything he had. And that, perhaps, was what scared Quirin the most because he had seen it before.</p><p>...in Ulla’s eyes, as she fought against her failing body to see her beloved son and husband home...in the moon’s voice as she spoke of darkness and light and inevitable sacrifice…</p><p>It was adamant, yet mournful. As if…</p><p>
  <em>A life for a life.</em>
</p><p>As if there was something to lose.</p><p> </p><p>_________________</p><p>
  <em>And I hear your ship is comin' in<br/>
Your tears a sea for me to swim<br/>
</em>
</p><p>
  <em>_________________</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She sat within her tower of stone, piercing blue eyes hardened like the walls around her as she gazed upon the kingdom she sought to destroy.</p><p>The kingdom she had once called home.</p><p>Words of doubt plagued her mind, roaring within her ears until the sound was almost too much to bear. She had thought she was on the right path—that what she was doing would lead her to her destiny. There had always been a feeling of something missing in life, a feeling that there was something more for her and all she had to do was find it—to find her place of belonging. She had once thought it was to be Captain of the Guard. She had once believed it to be as a soldier...a protector.</p><p>After all, that’s what she had thought she was doing for Rapunzel.</p><p>But had she ever really been protecting her at all?</p><p>A cold breeze blew in from the darkening skies, succeeding only in making the cold tower even colder, though Cassandra didn't feel it. Her skin was already ice—impenetrable...unfeeling...numb. It was as though her stone castle—perhaps the moonstone, itself—was an infection, sending poison through her blood and slowly turning her to stone as well.</p><p>Perhaps that would be for the best.</p><p>What was she, if not a protector? Was she a villain? Varian had called her that and he, himself, had been so at one point, though he had turned himself around. But to have stood against her so solidly in that moment—to have struck out with a hand and with words and told her the direction she was heading in was <em>wrong</em>…</p><p>He had been there before.</p><p>And he had seen that old piece of him in her.</p><p>So did that mean there was truth to it all? Was she really the bad guy in this story?</p><p>
  <em>Sorry, kid. But my fight’s not with you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Maybe it should be.</em>
</p><p>She remembered that night well. Nearly a week had passed since her failed attempt to find reconciliation and the details were still as clear in her mind as if it had happened only yesterday. She remembered the shock of suddenly finding herself trapped in amber—and the anger that had washed over her upon breaking free. <em>How dare they! How dare they fight her when she had wanted to make things right. </em></p><p>She also remembered their stricken expressions, hardly concealed beneath fragile masks of strength. They had seemed so exhausted—so weary at the time. She had wondered what happened to sap them of their spirit. What could have possibly happened to drain them of the fight they used to contain?</p><p>And Varian…</p><p>She remembered how he had thrown himself in front of her blade—how he had taken the hit for Eugene. There had been blood on his clothes, blood on the ground…</p><p>
  <em>Blood on her hands.</em>
</p><p>That was the first time she had ever really seen Eugene angry. He had gotten defensive in the past and they had bickered and argued more times than she could count. But that had been the first time he had truly been furious—had truly shouted at her—and she had been a little afraid he would run her through where she stood.</p><p>
  <em>Are you happy now?</em>
</p><p>Was she?</p><p>Was this really what she wanted? To hurt her friends...to destroy her home?</p><p>What was she hoping to achieve with this course of action? Truth be told, she wasn't so sure what she truly wanted anymore. Was it destiny? Was it purpose? There had to be another way, surely, because Rapunzel had tried to convince her of that so many times before, but what other choice did she have at this point? Would they even take her back if she asked for forgiveness? They had forgiven Varian, but he had been young—abandoned by the only people he had.</p><p>Had they offered him a helping hand in place of swords, perhaps he would have been saved from the start.</p><p>But she had met Rapunzel’s hand with a sword of her own. She had refused them.</p><p>So it was likely already too late for her anyway.</p><p>Cassandra’s thoughts were interrupted by a quiet hum that traveled through the air, drawing her gaze to a short, pale figure entering the room through the far archway, looking for all the world as though she had wandered upon the other by mistake.</p><p>But Cass knew better now.</p><p>“What are you doing here?” The question sprung from her lips with an edge sharper than she had intended, leading to a quick mental scolding for allowing her anger towards the demon to appear so transparently in that moment.</p><p>She didn't want Zhan Tiri to know she was questioning her. She didn't want her to know she was questioning herself.</p><p>“Oh, Cassandra. I didn't realize you would be in here.” Zhan Tiri’s chuckle sounded innocent, as though their crossing paths when the moonstone’s wielder had been using all her effort to avoid her since their return from Corona was a genuine coincidence.</p><p>“Yeah, well I’m here. You found me, so why don't you go plot world domination somewhere else.”</p><p>“Is something the matter?”</p><p>The gentle touch of a hand on her shoulder startled Cassandra enough to make her flinch. She hated the demon’s touch and she loathed so deeply to feel it now. And she hated the mocking tone that always seemed to underlie every word she spoke. How had she never heard it before? How had she ever allowed this thing past her defenses in the first place? She had thought herself strong—had thought herself clever for her hesitance to trust. She had always scolded the princess for her eagerness to befriend everything in sight and for her ignorance to believe everyone was good.</p><p>Yet she had given into Zhan Tiri’s words without even a fight.</p><p>And that, perhaps, was what angered her most. For it made her afraid—of herself and of the demon. Where she had once thought her barriers infallible, Zhan Tiri had proven them weak. Or maybe she had just known which areas to strike to send it crumbling down.</p><p>“Cassandra,” the renewed voice pulled her from her thoughts once more, “I understand you must be feeling ashamed of your failure in Corona…”</p><p><em>Ashamed?</em> Perhaps she was...though not for the reasons Zhan Tiri believed.</p><p>“...but I have come up with a solution that will guarantee our victory over our enemies.”</p><p>Fluorescent blue eyes turned rapidly towards the short figure, narrowing in an attempt to see the trick—the deceit she surely held up her sleeve. “Yeah? What’s that?”</p><p>“This.” The demon held up a single hand in which sat a large stone of blue. On it was a single carving—a circle pierced by three lines.</p><p>
  <em>The Mind Trap talisman. </em>
</p><p>“Since your little escapade, the Sundrop now knows to expect your return, no doubt. And I’m sure the kingdom will have upped its security tenfold to prepare for us. They won't stand a chance against our power, of course, but we must destroy our greatest threat before we overtake Corona. We need...a couple allies, let’s say, to help bring the sundrop to us.” Zhan Tiri’s lips drew back in a malicious smirk as the talisman began to glow, her eyes shadowed with an emotion Cassandra couldn't quite place.</p><p>She seemed colder than she had ever been—crueler. The demon had never had good intentions, but, in that moment, the expression in her eyes struck Cassandra with a wave of ice—apprehension building in her gut with an overwhelming feeling of impending catastrophe.</p><p>This would end, one way or another.</p><p>And Cassandra couldn’t help but feel that, when it did, everyone was going to lose.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Across the stretches of land that lay between them, three figures turned their gazes to the sky as a command for loyalty filled their minds.</p><p>A woman: pausing in her movements, sword falling to rest at her side.</p><p>A man: climbing to his feet and stepping away from the Great Tree he had made his home.</p><p>And a father: all senses going dull as a dark energy washed over him, drowning out the feel of his son’s shoulder beneath his hand.</p><p>A burning fire erupted in their veins until all was lost except a female voice, tone maniacally gleeful. A flash of blue sparked in their eyes.</p><p>Then it all fell away.</p><p>_________________</p><p> </p><p><em>And I hear a storm is comin' in</em> <em><br/>
My dear, is it all we've ever been?</em></p><p>
  <em>(novo amor - anchor)</em>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ah, finally. Nearly 5 months since I finished Steady Beats, I am finally here with the start of the sequel. I’m not making any promises anymore about an update schedule because I never stick to it lol</p><p>Also you’re darn right I’m giving you the father/son moment you deserved from the end of the last story :’)</p><p> </p><p>follow me on tumblr &amp; instagram for behind the scenes of the writing process, art, and other stupid shit<br/>Both @ allthestarsandi</p><p> </p><p>stay tuned!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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